This is a two part erotic story written by a listener of ours Sir Stardust. They were originally writing for our Halloween theme post but it became something much larger and more fun so I decided to keep the creepy season going a little bit longer and share this hot piece with you.
The Tortured
It was 1692, I was accused of witchcraft by way of making a man’s dick disappear. I was captured on Wednesday, and in an act of “mercy”, they decided not to execute me. Instead, I was to be subjected to torture since I was “a pain in the ass that wouldn’t confess”.
I was brought into a gallery, something like the Colosseum but less grand. I was strapped to a piece of wood in the middle of the floor, and blindfolded. I could no longer see what my torturer was doing, I could only feel.
My mind was racing, not only from what I was accused of, but what was going to be done to me. Next thing I know I hear a crack, and a sharp pain on my thigh.
“We’re just getting started here sweetheart,” came a shockingly smooth voice in my right ear.
“Why are you doing this to me?” I said, still out of breath from the shock of the impact.
No answer came, just another crack, this time on my shoulder. I cried out, and heard a chuckle in response.
At this point all I could hear was the crowd cheering and screaming for blood. I felt a sudden burn right between my breasts at that moment, and screamed. The smell of my flesh burning, and cigarette smoke wafted up to my nose.
My torturer started pelting questions at me like hail. None of them stuck in my brain long enough to answer, as I was distracted by a knife dragging along my arm.
Another burn. Another cry. Then a definite question.
“Are you a witch?”
Another burn.
I winced, and said through gritted teeth, “So what if I am?”
Another crack, followed by another sudden burn.
I kept the cry down this time, simply wincing and stretching outwards. A physical reaction, instead of a vocal one.
“I said,” a sudden knife to my throat, the torturer so close I could feel their breath on my face, ”Are. You. A. Witch.”
“Go. To. Hell.” I said, and spit in their face.
My confidence wavered as they pressed the knife harder against my throat, but I didn’t budge. They sensed that I wasn’t giving in and released the knife.
I resisted the urge to relax, as I knew more was coming.
I felt myself being taken down from the wood, and I was confused.
“Don’t get too excited dear,” came that smooth voice from behind me, “I’m not even close to being done.”
They got me tied back up, facing the other way, my face and chest to the wood.
Cheers. Calls for blood. My blood. Hearing my torturer hype up the crowd, yelling back.
“Now let’s go over this one more time,” their voice back to the smooth sultry one I’d been hearing all day, “Are you a witch?”
Then, a new sensation. A sudden drag across my back. It burned and I cried out, it felt like…fire maybe?
I shouted back at them, “Does it even fucking matter? You’ve made up your mind.”
Another drag of fire.
“This crowd needs to hear it. That’s why they’re all here isn’t it?”
A knife across my back, in a pattern this time. I couldn’t tell what pattern it was. Then I hear the crowd chanting, and it hit me.
“Witch, witch, witch, witch,” came the voices from the crowd.
“Witch.” came through the pain on my back.
I felt suddenly defeated. I wanted so badly to keep fighting, but knowing that even if they let me live, I’d have those scars on my back for a long time.
Another sudden drag of fire that brought me back to myself. I cried out, and my rage came back.
I yelled, “Let me fucking go!”
A cigarette burn on the back of my neck.
“Oh honey,” that smooth voice in my ear, “I’ll let you go when I’m good and fucking ready.”
Another burn on my neck, and I felt the cigarette drop down my back, off my ass and onto the ground. I winced at the trail of burns it left.
Multiple fast drags of fire, like a hundred tiny whips on my back. I screamed, and next thing I knew, I was ripped down from the wood. I was forced to my knees, blindfold ripped off, and as my eyes were adjusting to the light, I looked up and saw the face of my torturer. The smooth sultry face that matched the voice perfectly.
They ran their hands through my hair, patted my cheek, and smiled.
“Way to take that torture little lady. We will pick this up at a later time.”
They ran their fingers across the vile word on my back.
“Until then, you’ll be reminded of exactly what you are.”
They spit in my face, and I was dragged away.
The Torturer
1692, just another morning, another person accused of witchcraft. I was asked to perform the torture of this woman, who had made some poor chap’s dick disappear. I am not the one who simply executes these vile witches, I’m the one they call for the pain in the ass types that just won’t give in or confess. I bring the pain.
They brought her into the arena, and I strapped her to a piece of wood, and blindfolded her. A smile crept across my face. She looked so helpless up there. She tried to act tough but you could tell, she was scared.
I cracked my whip, right on her thigh. She cried out.
“We’re just getting started here, sweetheart,” I purred into her ear.
“Why are you doing this to me?” She whimpered.
Pathetic. I didn’t bother to dignify that with an answer. I instead cracked my whip again, this time on her shoulder.
Another pathetic cry. I couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle.
The crowd roared in response as I lit my cigarette. I took a few long drags as I listened to the crowd cheer and scream for blood. The cigarette ran out and I put it out right between her breasts.
She screamed, and I could smell it burning her skin. I love the smell of a witch starting to burn.
I figure it should be about time to start asking questions. Maybe she’s weaker than I thought, and will break right away.
“Did you make his dick disappear?”
“How did you do it?”
“You’re a fucking witch aren’t you?”
All the while dragging my nice sharp knife across her arm. I lit up another cigarette and took some long drags while dragging the knife on her arm.
I burned her again with my cigarette, and then came another pathetic cry from the witch.
“Are you a witch?” I asked her one more time, burning her again.
She winced and said, trying to look tough, “So what if I am?”
I cracked my whip on her, and burned her once more.
“I said,” I picked up my knife and pressed it against her throat, my face so close I could taste her sweat, “Are. You. A. Witch?”
“Go. To. Hell.” She spit in my face.
I wiped the spit off and chuckled. I pressed the knife harder against her throat, and felt her shake beneath it.
Then, an idea. A different torture that would for sure get her to crack.
I took her down from the wood and purred in her ear, “Don’t get too excited dear, I’m not even close to being done.”
I tied her back up to the wood, her back facing me now.
The crowd was going wild, screaming for her blood.
I smiled and shouted, “You want more? This witch won’t know what fucking hit her!”
Then I lit up my fire wands, the crowd roared seeing the flames rise up. I smiled. I always got a strange pleasure from torturing. A strange…almost erotic pleasure.
I dragged my fire across her back, and a new different kind of cry left her lips.
“Does it even fucking matter?” Came a shout from the suddenly ballsy witch tied to my stake, “You’ve made up your mind.”
I dragged my fire across her back again, and heard her cry.
“The crowd needs to hear it,” I replied picking up my knife, “That’s why they’re here isn’t it?
I then started to carve a message into her back. One that would show the crowd and her, exactly what she was.
“Witch,” her bloody back said.
The crowd went nuts. They started chanting, “Witch, witch, witch, witch!”
You could see then she was starting to break. Her confident nature was starting to fade.
I dragged my fire across her bloody scars, and heard her shout out, “Let me fucking go!”
I lit up another cigarette, and burned the back of her neck.
“I’ll let you go when I’m good and fucking ready,” I purred into her ear.
I burned the back of her neck again and let the cigarette drop down her back and bounce off her ass.
I then lit up my floggers, and went to work on her back. The cries coming from her as I burned and flogged her back filled me with that particular sadistic pleasure I’ve come to love so much.
The crowd roared in response, and I basked for a moment in the glory of another successful torture.
I then ripped her down from the stake, forced her to her knees, and ripped off her blindfold. I finally took a good look at that pathetic pretty little face.
I ran my hand through her hair and patted her cheek firmly.
“Way to take that torture little lady,” I said to her, smirking a little, “We will pick this up at a later time.”
I ran my hand finally over my proud marks on her back.
“Until then, you’ll he reminded of exactly who you are.”
I spit in her face just as they dragged her away, and basked in the glow and cheers of the crowd.
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